


aurea somnia

by snazaroo



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: I suck at writing, how ronan feels after his father death (kinda?), i completely mess up the timeline tbh, i had to write this for a class so i thought id post it, it kinda doesnt go with the plot, its pretty terrible tbh, more of a character study really, ronan focused, very slight pynch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 10:30:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12910044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snazaroo/pseuds/snazaroo
Summary: Ronan Lynch learned hatred at a young age.





	aurea somnia

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this for an english project so its kinda terrible. im really bad at writing with characters that aren't mine but i tried my best. i couldn't remember the timeline so i kinda made it up, though it does follow similar plot points. this is basically my take on how Ronan was feeling and how it progressed. The gangsey is mentioned but its all separately. this is my first fanfic so ehh i kinda knew it would suck. hopefully i improve :)

 

Ronan Lynch learned hatred at a young age. 

At 7 he thought he knew hatred when his friend stole his beloved cat. A beautiful grey tabby that his dad had come home with one night that had just never left. That was the most tragic thing to happen in his short life. He missed the cat like it was his brother, a missing puzzle piece in his life. Within a month he has forgotten about the boy he thought he hated. A boy with Ronan’s talents had bigger, better things to dream about. 

At 12, Ronan knew hatred by heart -  this time it was the real deal. It was a sudden thing, a jump from peaceful to his blood going too cold and too hot at the same time. He had seen his father's life drain out of his eyes, seen the retreating figure jump into a car and drive away. He had felt despair, of course, but rather it was the accompanying rage he let take over. Ronan had burned in that moment, let the abomination that was his feelings run wild. He had chased after the car, the image of a mouth that used to sprout unbelievable stories to put him to sleep now sprouting only blood. Ronan had chased and chased, but by the time he came back with the realization that his efforts were futile, his father had slipped away with only five words left in his wake.

Niall Lynch was a mythical creature, not only idolized by Ronan and his siblings but many others around the world. He was ethereal, always bringing home magical artifacts for Ronan to fawn over. He was a master storyteller, adventure stories sounded true and plausible no matter the circumstance when they came from him. He was Ronan’s world; a place that let Ronan be as wild as he wanted, as free as he needed to be. Then that world was snatched away and burned in front of his eyes.

“All this to protect you,” the blood stained lips had said before they were entirely lifeless. That's when Ronan really knew hatred. He loathed the man who had driven away, loathed his father for leaving him in this world, loathed the universe for letting someone as magical as his father die while he could only be a bystander in the story that changed his life. Niall had let Ronan believe that he was in charge of controlling his own story, but Ronan wasn’t a storyteller like his father was. However, he still believed - and when that reality came crashing down, Ronan went down with it. His father's words didn’t really register with Ronan until months after the funeral. The months of his grief were filled with little else other than rage. He only saw red, only knew how to speak in words that wounded. He wanted others to feel pain as he had. Ronan learned the art of knives in words and how to start fires with his smiles and set worlds ablaze. He cut so deep into others that he was no longer surrounded by love as he had been with his father, instead he was surrounded by the dead silence of his father's ghost that lingered in every dream he had ever had. Ronan learned how to destroy as he wanted, to be cruel until the loneliness filled up every crack left behind. 

Then Ronan turned 13. This was the year of realizations. He remembered the last words his father had uttered. When he turned 13, Ronan learned the worst hatred of all. He learned how to hate himself more than he could ever despise anyone else.  

Blame is a funny thing. It jumps from person to person, never concrete until it lands on the being that started it. Before, Ronan had found a way to blame anybody that came into sight, had been blinded by fury for so long. Now that he knew the truth, Ronan knew whose fault it really was. His father had lived for him and died for him. His father had been dedicated to giving him everything, Ronan being the favourite of his three children. It was only fitting that it was because of Ronan that he died too. 

So at 13, Ronan learned the art of self hate. He used the skills he had learned during the year of rage and grief and turned them towards himself. No longer were the knives in his words hurting others, now they were used to hurt himself. Loneliness had become an old friend, but now that friend no longer seemed to soothe him as it did before. Ronan grew apart, lashing out at himself and the only family he had ever known. He learned how to start fights, how to get others to hate him as much as he hated himself. He let go of the dreams he had held onto for so long, let his father go with them, but he could never let go of the hate that had become a part of him now.

His father's death taught Ronan many things and many of them he still holds close.

 

⤔⤔⤔

 

Many years had passed, some days the skies were blue and other days they were grey. Ronan had grown. He had changed everything about himself. He shaved his hair and became the type of person who got a $900 tattoo just to displease his brother. He was carefree in a way that was terrifying even to himself. His hatred towards himself had changed, though it was only distorted enough to fill the shape he was now. 

“Ronan, I think that's enough coffee for you,” a concerned voice said. A pale hand came into Ronan's point of view, dragging the coffee away from his clutching grip. 

“Shut up Gansey, and give me back my coffee,” Ronan growled, raising his eyes to meet his friends. His head felt heavy enough to drag him through the ground and six feet under to his grave. Bruises were blossoming across his cheekbones and dark circles made his blue eyes look even more sunken than normal.

“You look like you haven’t slept in days Ronan,” Gansey continued as though Ronan had not spoken at all, “did you get into a fight with Declan again?” He raised Ronan’s coffee and took a sip, grimacing at the taste. “Also stop drinking coffee with so much sugar, this is like drinking straight up candy.”

Ronan scowled, sitting up straighter and snatching his mug back. “Remind me about when i asked for your opinion,” he murmured under his breath before standing. Gansey would berate him if he didn't get up now that he knew Ronan was, at the very least, alive. 

“Get ready, we’re meeting Blue and Adam outside in less ten minutes. Glendower doesn’t wait for any man. Excelsior!” Gansey exclaimed, way to chipper for it to be this early in the morning. 

“Excelsior,” Ronan mocked under his breath as he made his way to his room to do as Gansey said. Following Gansey was all anyone could really do when he got into one of his moods. Gansey had been searching for the ancient dead king, Glendower, for as long as Ronan had known him. His dedication was what kept Ronan alive for a long time. To know someone who had a goal, a dream that they saw someone like Ronan participating in. He stayed for Gansey and his dream, because Ronan knew all about dreams and how fast they could disapparate or deform. He had to be there for him when it did, because dreams always go every other way than you would expect.

Ronan knew dreaming like it was the back of his hand, probably better even. He had dreamed of his father’s dying breaths so many times, hoping to stop it, to change it. Every time he had woken up with blood that wasn't his staining the sheets and daggers clutched in his hands. At first he couldn't control what he brought back from his nightly adventures, but then he learned. Ronans dream had been to bring his father back, to right the wrongs he had committed. That dream never seemed real, unlike the others. Some days he could bring back butterflies the size of books, but other days it was demon like creatures that leapt and attacked like they only existed to kill. Ronan could make any dream real, whole worlds built on danger and freedom could come alive under his thoughts - but his attempts to change the past were always futile. So Ronan stayed for Gansey and his dream; to be part of something that his destructive mind couldn't ruin. 

That was Ronan's first secret. It was a secret his friends knew but never talked about. Nobody knew how to bring it up, not when they found him standing on ledges at two in the morning or when he was, in his rare moments, full of mirth. They cared, always talking him down without mentioning a thing about dreams. They all understood, they were all a little broken under the surface even if the cracks didn’t show. Each and everyone of them sat with him as the sky turned pink and talked about the most mundane things just to bring him back to what they thought was normal. This was much more than Ronan thought he deserved. Ronan didn’t even know which version of himself was even real anymore. They all blended together, a painting with only blacks and blues - ever changing but never complete. They didn’t know that this mess was Ronan’s mind no matter the time. His thoughts spun in circles whether it was morning or night. His demons didn’t discriminate about who was around; they only lived to turn him into whoever he was meant to be in that moment. Sometimes he managed to pull unbelievable things from his dreams. He would show those to his friends and watch their eyes fill with wonder. Ronan lived for those moments when he could make others see beauty where he could only find pain. 

⤔⤔⤔

 

A car door slammed and Ronan woke with a jolt. Suddenly Adam was in front his face, his mouth moving but no words registered in Ronan's mind. Adam shook his head before reaching back and pushing Ronan's headphones off his head. 

“Ronan, if you don’t get out of this car right now I'm going to crash your BMW the next time you let me drive it,” Adam teased, his voice strangely fond. Adam Parrish was Ronan's second secret. This was a secret no one but Ronan knew, a secret that he was happy to keep.

Adam always makes Ronan feel like he is about to cry, although that's not completely accurate. It's as though he is about to burst at the seams with a sort of feeling that only fairy tales talk about. There is a lump in his throat that changes his words from daggers to soft petals in the wind and his smile to a softly glowing ember. At the same time, Adam makes him feel hazy at the edges - a sense of potential running through his long empty veins. With him, Ronan feels the most alive he has in years but also as content as a flowing river. He cannot change the course he flows in, he can only give himself over the the rhythm. Adam is otherworldly in a way that has nothing to do with dreams but somehow he is the only one who isn’t an illusion in them. Maybe it's because he knows how to dream with Ronan; to catch on and hold on until Ronan has decided on where his thoughts will settle for the night. Adam is a safety net, a safe haven for a lost soul like Ronan to confide in. Without knowing it, Adam makes Ronan free from his thoughts for a few moments and that's all Ronan can really ask for. He doesn’t deserve Adam either. He doesn’t know if he ever does the same for him - doesn't know if he’s an escape for Adam as well, they are the same in some ways - but he hopes maybe one day he can. 

 

⤔⤔⤔

 

One day - many months after the demon has gone back to whatever dream hell Ronan pulled it out of and everyone has healed from the dark wounds that had marked their skin - Blue asks Ronan a question. With all the subtlety of a battering ram, she inquires, “Do you blame yourself for what happened?” 

“It was my fault,” Ronan says with a finality that Blue ignores, “It came out of my dreams, not anyone else's” 

The thing about Blue is that she doesn’t take any of his nonsense. “You can't specify what you take out of your dreams, we all knew that beforehand. If anything it was our fault for trying to get you to attempt to take something so big the first time. We’re all fine now and that's what matters in the end.”

“We almost weren't fine though! Adam was possessed for God's sake! You and Gansey were trapped underground for two days!” Ronan can't even fathom ever blaming anybody else for the debacle that had occurred. It had always just been his fault, nobody else could make such creatures come to life in the first place.

Blue scoffs before grabbing him by the arm and leading him towards the rest of the group, probably to lecture all of them together so she doesn't waste her breath on only one. Blue held a peculiar position in Ronan’s life. He hadn’t liked at her first, hadn’t wanted to expand their little group to include someone of Blue’s vigor. She was brash and ready to start fights over conversations about the environment, nothing like what you would expect from such a small figure. They were similar in many ways, though her issues stemmed from love rather than lack thereof.  They both didn't fit in. She came from a family of seers, an anomaly in a long line of psychics. Ronan on the other hand, was a creature of magic within the confines of his normal past. They were both unnatural and bitter; it was hard to dislike someone so much like yourself but so easy to hate yourself. 

 

⤔⤔⤔

 

It has been years since his father's death, years since the word hate was first introduced to Ronan. He learned how to detest the world, but above all he learned how to despise himself. It wasn’t a small piece of him that Ronan could just scrape off. It lived and pulled inside of him, a mass of shadows that never went away. He had learned how to live with it; how to live with the constant ache of wanting to do better but always knowing you never could. There were times when Ronan had wanted to try but the heaviness inside him had shackled him to the ground, a mere statue that could only wish to breathe like the observers that surrounded it. Maybe someday Ronan will encounter the miracle that brings him out of the concrete walls that cage him in, though he doesn't know where that story will begin or end. Maybe the wonder would be of his own doing, maybe he would stay frozen in time like this forever. The future is always uncertain - the ever changing string of fate tied with unpredictable knots. In this moment, Ronan only knows two things: He would die for every single one his friends - his family really - without hesitation, and they would, through some mistake of destiny, love him enough to do the same. 

  
  
  



End file.
